


Swansong

by Twisted_Barbie



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 13:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Barbie/pseuds/Twisted_Barbie
Summary: To the lovers that never were.A missing scene from their last encounter in the series finale.





	Swansong

Without any further words George takes his leave and his heart feels hollow in his absence. He turns to look upon his doting wife, by now so wise to his selfish wants. It pains him to know his torn heart will forever break hers but despite his selfish ways she would always forgive him. Her depths of empathy knew no bounds and yet he fears the day when that particular well runs dry. 

She nods once with a look of sorrow etched on her beautiful face giving him consent to leave her side. He will always leave but she must know in her heart that he will always return to her. His heart is wild but she has tamed it. 

He leaves the house and approaches George as he steadily walks towards his horse. 

“Are you truly leaving then?” He questions, wanting to believe it is the thought of Trenwith falling to ruin that tears his heart asunder. 

George pauses with his back still to him in utter disrespect or self-preservation. “I think it wise,” he turns to look over his shoulder. “Don’t you?” It is wise but when had he ever given a care to wisdom? 

“If you are leaving because of me, I sail to Paris soon.” 

“You flatter yourself.” George quips but there is no heat in his words and he is gifted a genuine small smile as he turns towards him. 

“One of my many flaws.” He returns good-naturedly. “Have we not been here before? You leaving for Truro while I leave for war?” 

“We were just boys then and knew nothing of the world.” 

“But we are men now and we were friends once.” 

“You bring this up now, why?” George asks, cagily, eyes averted. 

He steps forward bridging the gap between them. “Because if nothing else, I wish to part from you in friendship.” George looks up but he appears smaller, slender, vulnerable, reminding him of the boy he met in a school he did not belong in. He belongs here with him now, the ying to his yang, the ice to his fire. There was no Ross Poldark without George Warleggan. So much of himself was built around the man that George made him. 

“I think it safe to say that ship has sailed. I’m not the boy you remember nor am I the man you’ve come to know.”

“If all that is true then why do my words of friendship fall upon deaf ears?” 

“Not deaf, simply disinterested.” Those dismissive words wound more than they should. “Good day and goodbye.” George turns to leave but he grabs his arm and receives a venomous glare. “I suggest you unhand me.” Words have failed him and so he uses his lips instead, planting them over George’s supple pale pink lips. 

“Damn you, Ross Poldark.” George curses breathlessly as their lips part only to meet again in a second kiss that was more desperate than the first. His lips taste of brandy but he dare not delve deeper or surely he would lose himself. Instead, they kiss as they once did, as two boys, curious in their lust but inhibited by inexperience. 

As they part for breath he finds his fingers have found their way into George’s silky dirty-blond hair as George’s hands clutch his shoulders desperately. He leans down to rest their foreheads together as he recaptures his stolen breath. 

“Don’t go,” he whispers, as his breath ghosts over George’s kiss swollen lips. 

“I don’t want to, but I must.”

“But we make such a formidable team.”

“Formidable yes but undesirable. We are two sides of the same coin, bound together but destined to be apart. Let it go at that and let me go.” He cannot dispute the wisdom of his words and perhaps he never did but the heart cared nothing for logic. 

He unhands him and takes pleasure in the way that George takes his time to release him, running gentle hands down his back and over his chest committing his body to memory. With no little effort, he drops his hands to his sides and steps out of reach of his welcoming arms. 

George then continues his journey towards his horse and in his desperation to touch him one last time, he helps him mount the black mare. 

“Is this goodbye?” he asks, hearing disappointment in his own words. George looks down upon him as he was wont to do and his hair is unkept and his lips reddened. He would ruin him if he stayed and they both know it. 

“Perhaps for now. Take care of yourself Ross, until we meet again.”

“We will.” He promises. 

George inclines his head, conceding his promise but his expression suggests he does not believe it. He rides away then, without a backward glance and his mood darkens. He’d like to think their parting was only an end of a chapter but he has a sinking feeling that it is the end of their tale.


End file.
